"Is that a dead rat?"
"Yeah, that's a big ol'dead rat. Or a small dead cat. It's kinda hard to say at this point."
The first voice, which belonged to Billie Phillips, was undeniably female, although she sounded like an excited preadolescent boy at the moment. "That's really gross! That was one bigA rat," she said with a whistle. "What else are we going to find?"
The second voice was the deep, amused one of her brother in law, Nick Hunter. "This house has been empty for a long time, so we're liable to find rats, cats, possums, bats and a bunch of drug paraphernalia. Just watch where you step," he cautioned.
They were looking over a house that she desperately wanted to buy. It was a three bedroom brick bungalow in a part of Chicago that had seen better days. The house had fared much worse than the neighborhood, however. It had passed through many owners and tenants and it was currently a mess. It was by far the worst house on the block and there was a lot of ...
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